#their struggles it still feels like I’m getting to know them better

[revelboo]

Hello!! If you’re willing could we get some es Soundwave being soft with his human that got hurt somehow? I got my gallbladder taken out on Friday and I’ve been in Pain orz

Sure! Hope you feel better soon!

Comfort

Earthspark Soundwave x Reader

• Spinning at the crash and yelp, he’d only left you alone and unsupervised for a klik. Staring at the bright red of your blood everywhere as you crouch and start trying to quickly pick up the broken glass, he snarls and you flinch. And cut your hand. Growling as he cups his hands around you to scoop you up, he rushes you to the wash basin and holds you under the spray, ignoring your yelp at the cold water as he tries to wash away the broken glass to tell how badly you’re hurt. Servos flexing around you as the water runs pink. “Sorry,” you mutter, making him even angrier that you’re apologizing for being hurt.

• Gingerly checking the gash on your arm, it’s not deep, but it’s bleeding freely as he holds you under the icy spray of water. Can hear him rumbling nonstop, the aggressive noise putting you on edge as he carries your soaking form to his berth and sets you down. And he’s slamming things, growling and snarling angrily in his own language as you drag one of your blankets over and try to tear strips off it, jolting when he smacks a tiny box down beside you, yanks the blanket away, and mass shifts to join you. Oh, he’s pissed.

• You’re bleeding everywhere as he sits and drags you into his lap. How much of that can you afford to lose when you’re so little? Pissed off, he opens the little kit Lazerbeak had stolen him when you’d scraped your knee. And you go still when he pulls out the bottle of wound wash and starts unscrewing the tiny top. “I’m good, just a little cut!” You gasp out, squirming to escape as he tightens the arm wrapped around you. Ignoring your struggling as he soaks some bandages in the stuff and you go rigid against him when it touches the cut, shuddering violently. Then you’re swearing at him, voice getting louder as he cleans the cuts.

• Sadistic asshole! Struggling against him as that stuff burns, you remember your grandmother pouring hydrogen peroxide on cuts when you were a kid. Then again, the old woman had also believed castor oil, or kerosene in a pinch, fixed everything from a cold to a hangover. “Stop acting like a sparkling,” he snarls as you flinch when he sprays on antibiotic and it burns just as bad before your palm gets the same treatment. Glowering sullenly up at him as he bandages your arm and palm, he vents when you try to pull away. “Do you want an infection?” He adds on a growl.

• Rumbling as he studies his handiwork, he’s tempted to just pour the entire bottle of wound wash on your cuts to be safe. Especially after having done a little research on humans and finding out about infections and how easily your organic body can become compromised. That everything can kill you. “What do you care?” You mutter, snatching your arm out of his grip and cradling it to your body, eyes shiny like you’re about to start leaking. “Oh, that’s right. I’m not helpful dead.”

• Regret the words as soon as you say them as he rumbles a warning and very gently pops you on the back of the head with a palm. “Hey!” You snap indignantly, struggling when he hooks an arm around you and wrestles you into his lap, crooning at you as you wiggle to get free until you give up and relax into the deep humming. Hear it shift into a rough purring of his engine as his chin and jaw brush the top of your head and you finally relax despite yourself. Uncomfortable with when he does this, when he wants anything more than your hands to help him or your body under his. Because this feels warm and safe and it’s a lie. Makes you feel like you’re wanted even though you know he hates you. And it’s somehow crueler than anything else he could do to you.

• Easing back with you now that you’re not fighting him, he rolls onto his side facing you and uses his servos to push your wet hair from your face and you push his hand away, expression mutinous. Do you still hate him? He despises you sometimes even as he worries over you, looks for you, reaches for you. Everything less certain now, less black and white with Rumble so close to being back. Dragging you flush against him, he pins you there so he can feel the too quick pounding of your heart, so he can vent to pull your familiar scent deep. Isn’t sure what this is he feels when he holds you, but it’s warm. Makes him think of before the war, before everything went wrong. It feels uncomfortably like home. Servos tunneling into your wet hair, he croons at you, letting the sound spill into you until you relax and sleep, lulled by the sound.

[borderlinereminders]

you act like you’re so perfect at recovery and that isn’t obtainable for everyone. feels like you’re judging me for not being where you are

Hey anon, this is kind of good timing because I just had a meltdown.

I’m going to share my meltdown.

I had a meltdown over my printer. I’m worked up about possibly needing to evacuate, money and just in general. My printer wouldn’t work and I lost it. I almost threw it. I needed urge surfing and TIPP to not.

This is extremely vulnerable of me, but I’m going to share the texts I sent my partner. I’m a bit anxious about it because it doesn’t really show me at my best. I felt so much rage (not at him, I just vented to him about it.)

To be clear, and I know I’ll get hate anyways, he is okay with being spam texted like this. As long as I don’t get upset with him being unable to reply, I have full permission to go off in his inbox. So, I don’t see this as a failure but it is embarrassing and shows that I am not perfect. Not even a little bit. No one is.

Reading these makes me feel like a fraud. Like I’ve conned everyone on here. But it’s a bad day. And I’m giving myself the space to have my feelings. I screamed into a pillow so much my throat hurts. I cried. And I spent some time beating myself up for all that. But the truth is, I’m allowed bad days. Recovery isn’t perfect. People aren’t perfect. And I still struggle some days, but the way I coped today was a lot more valid than it would have been years ago.

I’m mostly sharing that because I want there to be a realistic idea of recovery. It isn’t getting it perfect every time. It isn’t just smooth sailing.

And please don’t be discouraged by this, I’m still so much happier than before I started recovery. But bad days exist. I’m not perfect.

Trust me. I’m not judging. When I talk about behaviours to work on, I’ve done most of them. I’m just trying to share what works for me because working on my harmful behaviours has improved my quality of life.

Years ago, I might have thrown the printer. Hurt myself. Lashed out at my husband. I didn’t. I had a meltdown. I cried. I screamed. But I didn’t do anything to make it worse like my destructive urges used to. I also didn’t shove my feelings down though. And now I feel better.

Recovery can be obtainable and it’s up to you to decide what that looks like for you. And for me, recovery isn’t perfect. It’s improved my quality of life and my relationships.

Could I have handled it better? Absolutely. Am I still okay with how I handled it? Yes. There’s no lasting harm to me (aside from a sore throat) or my relationships. My printer is intact (and I got the orders printed too). And I’m curled up on my reading chair now feeling better.

It’s a win. It isn’t a perfect win, but it’s a win and truthfully? That’s what matters to me.

[whorerificstuff]

Part II: One Year Later

Continuation to that Genshin men x pregnant female reader

The house had grown quieter with time, not in peace, but in absence. Every sound that once belonged there, soft laughter, tiny footsteps, midnight cries,had long faded into memory.

A full year had passed since the day the rain refused to stop and the ground took in the person who once made life feel full. A year since a fragile child was placed into tired arms, the only piece left of love now buried. A year of learning to be both mother and father. A year of breaking and rebuilding. A year of enduring.

And then came the sickness.

It began as a cough, soft and occasional. Then came the fever. The labored breaths. The panic. The helplessness.

Hospitals had always been terrifying...more so now. White walls. Cold air. Machines that hummed indifferently while a tiny body lay still, fighting. He held those small fingers in his, watching the rise and fall of a chest that seemed to struggle for every breath.

He had whispered promises.

“You’ll get better.”

“You’re strong.”

“You can’t leave, not you too.”

But hope began to rot in his chest like something spoiled. The smiles from nurses were forced. The looks from doctors...careful. Hesitant.

“We’ll try everything,” they said.

They always say that.

The beeping slowed.

Then stopped.

The silence that followed wasn’t new. He’d known it once before, when love slipped from his hands like sand. But this one...this one shattered what was left.

He held the small, lifeless body. Rocked it. Begged.

“You’re just sleeping, right?”

“I’m here. I’m still here…”

No one answered.

He buried the child beside the one he had once shared a life with.

Two graves.

Two losses.

Too much.

He stood there under the heavy rain, no umbrella this time. He wanted to feel it all, every cold drop, every shiver, every ache that came with it. The wind howled like a grieving mother. The storm seemed endless.

Everyone else had gone. The concerned few stayed behind just long enough to make sure he didn’t collapse. But eventually, even they left. All that remained was him and the graves.

He knelt between them, soaked and trembling, running his hand across the carved stone.

“I did everything I could,” he whispered. “I loved her. I loved both of you.”

His voice broke.

“I was all she had. And I still wasn’t enough.”

His throat burned from crying. But the tears came anyway.

“I don’t know how to keep going.”

He closed his eyes, trying to remember warmth, laughter, softness. The way the baby used to wrap her fingers around one of his. The way her tiny body fit perfectly against his chest. The way she smiled...just like the one who gave birth to her.

All of it, gone.

The nursery was untouched, just as it had been the day she left it. The toys, the clothes, the soft scent of baby powder. Everything sat in waiting, quiet and cruel.

He sat in the rocking chair that was once his refuge during sleepless nights. This time, there was no bundle to hold. Just silence. Just arms aching for something they would never carry again.

The pain wasn’t loud anymore. It was a steady, crushing weight. Not sharp, deep, like drowning without water. Like screaming without sound.

He sat there until morning, blanket clutched against his chest, rocking slowly.

And when the sun finally rose, casting light through the window and across the empty crib, it felt wrong.

There should have been cries.

There should have been life.

But there was only one heartbeat in that house now.

One heartbeat.

And too much silence.

SUBJECT TO CHANGE

I honestly dont remember what happened in the prervious fic

Should I continue?

[lavenderangell]

Thinking of Giving Up?

A lot of people think manifesting is hard. And honestly, in the beginning it is. It feels like you're fighting against everything you've known, believed, and lived through. The thing that made me keep going is this:

I refused to give up.

I refused to live in a world where we're told to accept circumstances that break our hearts. Where we’re expected to just cope with pain, struggle and lack, as if that’s all life has to offer.

I’ve gone back and forth about whether or not I should even share this. I’m a private person, and I’ve never really liked opening up about the hard parts of my life but maybe someone needs to hear this. Maybe there's someone out there on the verge of giving up and this will encourage them to keep going.

For me, it was financial instability. My family struggled with money after my father lost his job. He had to sell his car to make ends meet. I know what it feels like to worry about where your next meal will come from. To feel ashamed and afraid. At one point, my parents hadn’t paid rent in over 6 months. Every single day I woke up thinking, "Is today the day we get evicted?"

And eventually… that day came.

We had to move to a much smaller house and because I'm the oldest, I had to give up having a room of my own. I slept in the living room. Every night, I would lie there surrounded by silence, pretending it didn’t break my heart. There were nights I cried quietly in the dark, wondering if this was all a waste of time. I doubted the law. I doubted myself. I thought, "Maybe this doesn’t work and I’m deluding myself." I felt like I was drowning in hopelessness, watching life go by while I stayed stuck.

Something in me refused to give up. I persisted, it wasn't easy, but giving up meant continuing to live a life that crushed me. It meant accepting defeat and I couldn't do that.

So I kept going. I assumed that my parents were wealthy, even when the fridge was empty. I imagined a better life, even when we were surviving on handouts.

Then, out of nowhere, my mom found out her father had left her a huge area of land. She sold it. The first thing my parents did was pay the money they owed the former landlord. After, they bought 2 cars and invested in real estate. And they still had money left over.

My dad, who had been unemployed for three years, finally got the job he had been hoping for.

We were once evicted.

Now my parents own an apartment complex and they're already planning on buying another.

You can’t convince me that this was just a coincidence.

So I ask you this, with all the love in my heart:

Are you willing to accept what they told you life has to be?

Or will you keep going, even when it’s hard?

Even when it hurts.

Even when your heart is tired and your eyes are heavy from crying. Because the moment you stop accepting less, life stops giving you less.

Accept that you already have what you want and persist.

This girl walked through shadows with tears in her eyes. She cradled hope like a fragile flame, even when the world gave her nothing but cold winds. Manifesting, she realised, was never about chasing. It was about becoming. She remembered the ancient truth that reality is soft clay in her hands, and with each quiet assumption, she shaped a life worthy of the divinity within her. She is no longer waiting. She is creating, endlessly, effortlessly.

......

I was going through my drafts when I saw this post and felt a nudge to share it. If it reaches even one person who needs it right now, then it’s done its job.

[lizardho]

Do you have any tips for surviving a mission as a queer person?

Tip #1 - Don’t go. Genuinely, I know this can be hard for people to hear, but don’t do it. You can’t fix it from the inside, the mission experience is not one that is swayed by pleas for compassion, by heartfelt humanity, by openness and congruence. People will tell you it is, they’ll say you can change the world, that You Being You is all the Lord wants, but they’re wrong. You cannot change in 2 years what Mormonism has spent 100+ years rending and shattering. You cannot ever be You in a way that matters. At best you will be a token to be spent, and at worst you will be spiritually eviscerated and left to bleed out alone once they’re done with you. If this breaks you, they will NOT put you back together again, they won’t even attempt to try or help, they’ll just leave you dying on the roadside like the priests in the Parable of the Good Samaritan. If not going means your mom is sad, or your dad feels like a failure, or your bishop won’t leave you tf alone, STILL do not go. Your mom can be sad for a bit, it’s better than having your soul broken and your heart pulled out and burned on the altar of Buried Gays. Here be monsters, do not set sail.

Tip #2 - if you DO go, like if your tuition hinges on it, don’t give them your passport. If they pressure you, tell them you’re holding onto it even if it doesn’t make sense. Don’t fold on this. They can use a passport to keep you in the field longer.

Tip #3 - Learn to “lie.” I put lie in quotes because it’s often not lying - the questions you are asked are often lies. If someone asks “how many people will you visit this week?” give them the correct answer because what they’re asking in actuality is not “how many people” but “how faithful are you” and the premise is erroneous. If people ask you if you’re queer, say “no,” because knowing you’re queer won’t change their perception of queerness it will endanger your safety and mental health.

Tip #4 - Be bad at it. A good missionary ignores boundaries or discomfort, they push people too hard and too fast, they manipulate others, they take advantage of pain points. It’s better to be a bad missionary. If someone says “I’m not interested” you’re supposed to say “well can I ask why?” but if you say “that’s totally fine! Here’s a card with an inspirational quote and a link to our website!” they usually feel better about it in the long run and you don’t have to pretend you forgot what consent is for two years. ALSO, being a good missionary means supporting other missionaries and sometimes that is NOT ok. I remember supporting a missionary or two struggling with depression and that was a great use of time, but I also remember getting treated like a Narc for a transfer cycle because I called out a pedo Elder for proposing to a 13 year old. Like. Just because he’s an elder or she’s a sister does NOT mean they are Your People.

Tip #5 - Make a game of it. If you take it seriously it will break you - everything bad is your fault, everything good is God having mercy on you. That just marinades you in guilt and inadequacy for two years. Instead, make it fun through any means necessary. I kept a tally of which ward members had inactivated the most people. I read scripture for fun and not just for work (like reading the OT for the stories and not for whatever else). I downloaded rain sounds to listen to at night so I could sleep. I played solo D&D campaigns. I took longer routes to lessons if it meant walking somewhere pretty or relaxing. Do what makes it bearable for you and do it with the knowledge that you’re not sinning for having fun.

Tip #6 - Actually learn scripture - it makes it easier to get people off your back if you do, it can actually be kinda fun and helpful, and it helps you be more genuine without having to use gimmicks like “The Spirit Voice” (the voice missionaries whip out to say something Serious and Real). Scripture isn’t inherently bad.

Tip #7 - Only stay as long as it’s good - everything has good and bad days, but if the bad days start piling up and making everything feel heavy, if you start thinking of suicide, if you start having panic attacks or worsening mental health, if you’re sick or you’re being taken advantage of or hurt or bullied or whatever just leave. They’ll tell you it’s your fault for being weak or faithless and that is such a crock of shit. That’s actual DARVO in action. Don’t buy it.

Tip #8 - Don’t skip the “hard” or “ugly” parts of lessons - teach the law of tithes to the impoverished, teach the law of chastity to gay people, AS IT IS IN THE CHURCH, because they deserve to know what they’re committing to, and too often they find out too late that what they thought they were committing to was Eternal Joy and what they actually committed to was Mom Working Now So We Can Afford Tithing or Everyone Treating Me Like I’m Diseased Because I’m Gay. Let people you teach see the real church, not the sanitized performance they put on.

Tip #9 - If you’re following the mission rules to a T and really not reading for pleasure, then DO NOT read anything but scripture. The teachings of David O McKay will not help your gay investigator make sense of why the church hates and reviles and rebukes his love, but it will open you up to a certain type of missionary who is unbearable to interact with.

Tip # 10 - Really do NOT go if there is ANY other way. If you can do a service mission, do it. If you can get a scholarship somewhere, take that and don’t go. If you can get an apprenticeship in a trade, do that instead. The church sells a lot of hype about RMs and the biggest thing I learned is that if my sister ever wanted to date an RM I would be scared for her safety. Even when I was a TBM, before my faith crisis but after I returned home, anytime I’d hear people say “make sure to date RMs only” I’d panic about it because even the “good” RMs I knew from my mission days had done some fucked up shit. Do not go.

[haveihitanerve]

Headcanon that when one of his siblings needs advice- Dick literally just shits on Bruce. It doesn't matter if its true or not, he will somehow draw a connection between this situation and something Bruce has(or sometimes hasn’t) done

It serves three main purposes-

It makes them feel better about themselves. -Despite how hard every batkid argues against Bruce and fights with him and is just generally trying to distance themselves from his image, they all still look up to him to an almost unhealthy degree, and to hear that he could relate to their struggles? Well, that makes them feel better. Because if he can overcome it, then maybe they can too. 

It humanizes Bruce to them, a little. -Because of their hero worship, sometimes the batkids can forget that Bruce is only human, and he’s made mistakes. He’s not perfect. He’s not the unfaltering symbol, the untouchable legend. He’s just Bruce, and he too once got his hand stuck inside a peanut butter jar because he hadn't slept in three days, it happens. This both makes Dick feel better, because he remembers things about his Dad he might have forgotten, and makes Bruce a little more sympathetic to the kids. He’s not perfect, he makes mistakes. Have a little leniency for him, sometimes. 

And 3. Literally it just makes Dick laugh lmao. -Sometimes the kid might bring it up later, in casual conversation with bruce, and Dick lives for the moments when Bruce’s face pales at the memory and goes slack jawed. (this is, of course, then followed by Bruce turning on him- because only one person knew about that incident, but its so worth it) Plus sometimes he just makes up stuff about Bruce and tbh Dick is trusted more in the family, so Bruce literally cant argue against it- the kid who said it will just scoff and roll their eyes and be like “way to be mature bruce, wow. Why would Dick make that up?” (this is also followed by Bruce hunting him down, but pshaw) and also remembering these things about his Dad sometimes makes him feel better, especially if they've had a fight or something recently. It calms him down a little, makes him remember his Dad is just a man. 

Steph: I know I messed up. That kid could've died tonight. It’s all my fault.  Dick: hey, it’s okay. You know, when I was first starting out, Bruce almost lost an entire school bus full of kids. It was only because he’d taken me on, a partner, finally, that we managed to save them.  Steph: wow… I guess… everyone makes mistakes sometimes, huh? Dick: *nodding in wisdom* yep.  Barbara: *listening through comms* motherfucker- we don't have schoolbuses in Goth- Dick: *mutes her* haha! Wanna go get some ice cream? ~ Damian: and that was when i moved. I shouldn't have. My anger got the better of me and I… i should not be trusted in the field. Dick: Hey, it’s alright, look at me. Sometimes our emotions are powerful things. One time, as Robin, a gang got between me and Bruce. They were really hammering on me too. I screamed and Bruce… well lets just say that those guys couldn't walk for months. Sometimes even our strongest self control isn't enough. Its okay. You’ll learn. You’ll grow. No one died, and thats the important thing.  Damian:... i suppose.. You are right, Grayson Dick: Damn right I am. Now come on, I’ve got two zoo tickets with your name on ‘em.  ~ Tim: *head in his hands* I’m just sooooo embarrassed. I should've seen that it was wet paint Dick: *snorting* hey, at least no one saw. One time, Bruce pretended to get so drunk at a Gala that he tripped into the chocolate fountain. He spent the rest of the night trying to offer people bites of his t-shirt. It was a mess Tim: *laughing* wow. I forget, sometimes, how ditsy Brucie Wayne is.  Dick: *chuckling* oh please. Bruce isn't much better. I one caught him feeding the fridge.  Tim:... do you mean putting food in the fridge? Dick: Thats what I would have called it too, but he was insistent that her name was Ela and she needed her protein. Then he poured one of his disgusting kale shakes into the bottom drawer. Alfred was pissed Tim: *cackling* thats… crazy Dick: *smiling* In his defense he was high on about fifty pain killers. But still. Yeah it was.

Anyway just Dick who uses his experiences with his Dad in order to make his siblings feel better about messing up- Because Bruce will never admit to those mistakes, he's supposed to set the example, be the man they all should look up to and match, but sometimes that means he forgets that they're just kids and he's supposed to be their dad. Sometimes the best thing he can be for them is relatable, and that's where Dick comes in.

[nqueso-lies]

If I were showrunning 911 (starting in s9, because I wouldn’t have done half of what we’ve been seeing lately) this is what I’d do for Buck and Tommy’s relationship.

I don’t know the episode total for this season, but let’s say 18 with a shorter A (7). But whatever, it’s flexible. I’ll be honest, I think my mid-season to end os stronger than the top few eps, but I’m also not seriously storyboarding this out. Just typing as my hair dries post shower.

I’d prefer a very minor time jump. Like, weeks instead of months. And even weeks plural isn’t pushing it for me, personally. They left too much hanging that I feel like could be continued, and it would be at a detriment in we jump and pretend it doesn’t matter what we missed. I know that’s the show’s MO, but this is my season.

1- Buck should be single, struggling still with Bobby’s death worse than before. Finally starting his descent into cracking. But private, barely should register with audience, but enough. Nothing shown about Tommy until we see unread messages from him that Buck doesn’t respond to. I’d love Buck waking up in bed next to some guy/girl who we think may be Tommy for a second until it’s quickly revealed it isn’t. Everyone thinks he’s fully over Tommy, coping well with Bobby’s death, that all is good for Buck. It is not.

Buck gets his original Buck 1.0 reputation back, though he’s not actually acting that way. Just letting his friends think he is, because it keeps them from talking about Bobby or how he’s really doing. At most he’s getting a lot of dinner and drinks with others. Every date is awful, they’re not Tommy.

Buck admits that he’s not a fan of casual dating anymore. Maybe in a loose two/three date-deep thing with one guy who’s nice but boring, but then he thinks he sees Tommy at a call. It’s not him, but it hits Buck that he can’t keep trying to suppress the Tommy of it all.

Skip a week

Something big happens and Buck is triggered in just the way to make him unable to keep working until he gets cleared. During a talk with a therapist he admits to not dealing with things well, that he can’t keep people he loves from leaving him — not Bobby, not Tommy, not Maddie, not Eddie. (Not said like that) more like “You’re talking about your former captain? / Bobby?” “Among others.” Something about how Bobby told Buck he loves him and he didn’t say it back.

Crash that helicopter (very pro this, but as a mid-season finale). Have Buck finally feeling all the feelings he refused to, he’s still out of work, taking time to heal. When the helicopter goes down, he rushes back into action. Like the Tsunami. His feelings towards Tommy are finally revealed, Tommy is his last, “I love you,” to the man. To the very unconscious and bleeding out man. Like the lightening strike, we end with Tommy’s life in limbo, Buck finally releasing all that he pent up, and him knowing that life is too short.

Next: Tommy is on the road to recovery. Buck by his side. As friends. Buck still hasn’t told him anything. Tommy is struggling with his recovery, the physical aspect and being out of work. Buck is back at work, but also Buck all but moves in to help, veryyyy domestic.

Next: we’re still in domestic territory. Very relatioshipy. Texts while on shift, meals, chores. They’re growing really close and we get to see it this time.

Next: Tommy is still very obviously into Buck, loves him, but still can’t trust that everything can be the way it was before. “It can’t be the same.” “It won’t, Tommy, it’ll be better.” Tommy pushes Buck away, because he still can’t believe in everything. Not now. He’s too damaged (his thinking). In a classic soap opera way, we find out Tommy heard what Buck said after the crash. Buck’s upset that Tommy never said anything. All but moves out when Tommy doesn’t say it back. (Buck’s first time running)

Next: Buck throws himself into work, harder than ever. Think after Eddie was shot and how reckless he was. Buck is trying to prove that he’s worth something now. He gets some stuff back from Tommy, who is still recovering. Tommy tries to talk to him, Buck doesn’t listen. Rushes out. (Buck’s second time running)

Next: Bad calls all day. Buck explodes, goes to Tommy. Tells him that he’s tired of people he loves not loving him back, that he deserves more, whatever — something not so schmaltzy. Tommy says it’s not that he doesn’t love him, it’s that he doesn’t love himself (again, too schmaltzy)… maybe trust instead of love. Idk, whatever, you get it. They finally talk. Tommy asks Buck to come back, “I still need help (something funny or sexy)” (coming together, no more running) would love a joke about not being able to run away this time.

Next episode: BT together again confirmed

(Skip and put relationship in the background until near season end)

Then: Cement their relationship, get a dog or something. I strongly think a proposal wouldn’t work, but give something solid. (Baby acquisition per chance? Jk, that’s my season 10)

Idk this is all just total spitball.

Dear lord. Tim. Just write it.

[writingfortoomanyfandoms]

Blink Twice

Pairing: Lando Norris x Russel!Reader (with chronic pain)

Summary: When George insists she come and spend the 2025 F1 season with him after seeing how she's struggling with her chronic pain, Y/N isn't expecting for Lando to show her how easy he finds it to look after her

Warnings: Swearing, some angst, lots of talk about chronic pain

Word Count: 5,037

A/N: Just want to give the disclaimer - this fic is based off of my own experiences with chronic back pain, I haven't specified any diagnosis and I understand that this won't be everyone's experience with chronic pain, but I hope that you still enjoy. Let me know what you think, and if you want me to continue writing for F1 :)

George and Carmen were beaming as Y/N entered into the arrivals section of Monaco airport, rolling her suitcase behind her. A smile came to her own face as she caught sight of her older brother and his girlfriend, the ache in her back feeling a little easier to ignore.

She allowed her handbag to drop to the floor, and let herself be drawn into a tight hug by George, who squeezed her to him.

“Hey, Bug - glad you made it.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” she responded, pulling away from him to embrace Carmen instead.

‘Inviting’ was her polite way of saying ‘insisting’, but neither Carmen nor George seemed inclined to correct her - clearly happy to keep up the facade that there had been no begging from their parents, nor from themselves to get her out to visit.

“The fans are going to be so excited to see you back in the Paddock,” Carmen said, “and I’ve missed you there, too.”

“Not just the fans, either - Lando’s insisted on taking you out for dinner tonight,” George added eagerly.

“All of us,” Carmen assured her, likely seeing the look of panic on her face.

“Right - but he’s said he’ll pay for you,” George said, slinging her bag over his shoulder and grabbing hold of her suitcase, while Carmen linked their arms together.

“Oh - I mean, I’m kind of tired,” Y/N said a little lamely.

“He’s picked a restaurant near our place,” George told her, his voice suddenly so much softer than before. “Even offered to pay for a taxi for you.”

“He’s pretty excited to see you,” Carmen said.

“How much have you told him?” She asked instead, a little aghast at the accommodations being made for her.

“Not much,” George promised immediately. “I think he just overheard me and Mum talking on the phone about you coming to stay.”

“Good to know you and Mum gossip about me,” Y/N said, sighing. She tried to hide her smile as she saw the way that George paled, immediately trying to backtrack and reassure her. She met Carmen’s eyes, smirking a little and her brother’s girlfriend snorted.

“Evil,” Carmen whispered.

Her smirk softened into a smile, and George’s words cut off as he seemed to realise she was largely messing with him. Despite all of her earlier resistance, she had to admit that it was nice to be with her brother again.

//

That evening, when Y/N got out of the taxi, she was surprised by how much of a relief it was to see Lando Norris waiting for her outside a restaurant. The driver bounded over with the bright beaming grin she was so used to seeing on him. 

The moment that she was standing up, Lando was pulling her into a hug.

“Good to see you, Mini-G!” 

“I thought we agreed you’d stop calling me that,” she grumbled, but squeezed him back.

“Ah - you know that thing about old habits,” Lando responded, pulling back. As he did so, he grabbed hold of her handbag. Y/N gave a weak protest, but knew it was in vain, and Lando quite quickly threw his arm over her shoulder to steer her into the restaurant. 

“No greeting for us?” George called. Lando glanced back over at him, raising his eyebrows, then waved them off with the hand that wasn’t over her shoulder.

“Anyway - I picked this place because they’re supposed to have incredible tiramisu, and I thought, what better way to celebrate your visit?”

“You don’t even like coffee, Lando,” Y/N laughed, finding herself leaning into him despite herself.

“But it’s your favourite,” he retorted.

The four of them filled the space it took for them to get seated at the table in the restaurant Lando had picked out with chat about Y/N’s flight, and how she was settling in to George and Carmen’s apartment. As they ordered they made small talk about what she wanted to do while they were in Monaco, how she wanted to make the most of her break.

It was after their food arrived that George and Carmen went into their own conversation, and Lando turned to her again.

“So - how’s life as an editor?” He asked, twirling some noodles around his fork. “Are you still enjoying it?”

“Yeah! I kind of love it,” Y/N admitted a little bashfully.

“That’s good - I remember you weren’t sure when you first took the job.”

“Glad I decided on this instead of teaching,” she replied, prompting a laugh from Lando.

“I think you would’ve made a good teacher,” he protested, though it was a little half-hearted. 

“Ah well - I’ll keep it on the back burner for now,” she smiled at him. 

If Y/N was being honest, she wasn’t entirely sure why her and Lando had struck up the friendship they had. Of course, they had met through George - years ago, when she used to hang out at karting to cheer on her brother, not that he had appreciated having his baby sister there, labelling her as an embarrassment more than anything else. 

Perhaps that was why Lando had been so insistent on befriending her. Maybe he had found it funny to keep inviting Y/N to the races, and to seek her out in the audience to chat to, because George’s annoyance was always so dramatic. Regardless of why he had initially set out to befriend her, however, she had come to value his place in her life, and always looked forward to seeing him and Alex whenever she did make an appearance in the paddock. 

“It's good that you were able to get time off, though - it feels like ages since you last had the chance to come to a race.”

Y/N shrugged a little self-consciously, swallowing her own mouthful of food.

“Well I’m off on sick leave for a little bit, and then my boss said I can do some work remotely anyway,” Y/N told him. When she glanced over at him again to gauge his reaction, she saw that he’d gone red in the face, clearly embarrassed. She smiled a little. “George insisted that returning to the paddock would fix all my health problems.”

“I mean I’ve heard that it’s a common prescription these days,” Lando joked. “So are you going to to all the races, then?”

“I’m not sure I can do all the travelling - but I’d like to,” she said. 

“I’ll make sure you get you a McLaren jumper to wear,” he teased.

“Don’t even think about it, Norris,” George inputted.

“Just wait - I give it one race weekend before she jumps ship to hang out in my garage rather than yous,” Lando bragged, resting one hand on the back of Y/N’s chair and grinning at her brother.

“I mean Oscar’s been driving pretty well this season,” Y/N mused, just to hear the indignant squarks of the two drivers at the table.

“I’m sure Alex would welcome us at Williams too,” Carmen offered.

“‘Us’?” George demanded. “Good to know that both my sister and my girlfriend are planning on abandoning me.”

“I've got a favourite Russel, George.”

“What can I say,” Y/N sighed dramatically, leaning back in her chair, her head nudging against Lando’s arms. “I’ve just got so many fans.”

//

A week later, Y/N found herself sitting across the table from Lando on a flight back to Monaco. Cards were spread out over the surface in front of them, George and Carmen asleep on the chairs beside them.

“So, since I won does that mean you’ll spend next weekend in my motorhome, Mini-G?”

“Does that work on all the girls?” Y/N asked, raising her eyebrows. 

A blush rose to Lando’s cheeks.

“I didn’t mean for it to sound like a line, muppet.”

“Just comes naturally, huh?” 

“Stop it!” Lando groaned, his cheeks going a deeper pink, and Y/N started to laugh a little at his clear embarrassment. “You are the only girl I have invited to the motorhome, I promise.”

Y/N’s laugh began to die down, the sound softened with her fondness for the man, but her smile remained in place - until the plane hit a moment of turbulence and she grimaced at the jolt to her already aching body. Lando’s expression dropped as he noticed the change and he lent over.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Y/N got out. “Just… already achy and turbulence doesn’t help.”

“Is there anything I can do? What usually helps?” 

Y/N bit her lip, considering whether or not to accept his help. Then there was another jolt of pain down her spine, making her mind up for her.

“Ah - in the front pocket of my bag there’s a heat patch - would you be able to get it out for me?”

Lando was on his feet after the first few words, already reaching up into the overhead lockers to grab down Y/N’s bag. There was a look of deep concentration on his face that under normal circumstances would have made her smile. 

Lando made a noise of triumph, dumping her bag on his seat and holding up the heat patch.

“Do you want me to put it on?” He asked. Y/N hesitated again, then thought about having to twist her arms around to get the patch to where she was feeling the most pain and quickly made her decision.

“Yes. Please.”

“Okay,” Lando said, his voice suddenly much quieter. “Where do you need it, darling?”

Y/N didn’t have the capacity in that moment to unpack that pet name. So instead, she lent forwards a little and tried to push up her jumper to give him access to her back.

“On my shoulder blades - on the left side?” She asked, still trying to raise her jumper.

A warm hand settled on the exposed skin of her waist, stilling her. Then Lando ever-so gently lifted her jumper and shirt the rest of the way. Then he very carefully pressed the head patch to where she had asked, pressing down as though he was worried even the most gentle of touches would break her. 

Lando seemed to hesitate for a moment, then Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she felt him duck down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

“Better?” He asked, voice a little hoarsely.

“Give it a minute,” she responded, managing to get out a laugh.

“Can I do anything else? I’ve got some painkillers in my bag?”

“I’ve got my own, but thank you,” Y/N said, offering Lando a proper smile when he retook his seat opposite her. “I’ve got a schedule for them,” she added, seeing how Lando still looked deeply concerned. 

“Is it… always there?”

“The pain?” Y/N asked, and Lando nodded his head.

“You don’t have to answer if you-“

“It’s okay,” Y/N shrugged, even as her heart thudded in her chest. “Yeah - it’s… always there. Some days are worse than others, of course, but there’s always the like… baseline pain, you know? Sometimes my mobility is really low because of it, which is why I was worried about the travelling, and sometimes it keeps me awake for a few days…”

Lando seemed to digest her words, going quiet. Y/N’s eyes began to wander around the cabin as she waited for his response, getting more and more nervous as time went on. When she looked at her brother, however, she noticed how he seemed tense despite maintaining the facade of being asleep. 

“I… that sucks,” Lando said at last. 

Y/N couldn’t help it, snorting with laughter.

“Thanks man.”

“Sorry! I just… I’m thinking,” Lando tried to excuse.

“You don’t need to understand it, Lan. I barely understand it a lot of the time.”

“I’m…”

“Rethinking the invite to your motorhome?” She meant for her words to come out as teasing, but knew she had fallen short with the way his eyes snapped to hers in alarm. 

“Never,” Lando told her, completely sincere.  “I just wish I could do something to help you.”

Y/N glanced back over to her supposedly sleeping brother, and saw how he had relaxed again, and there was a very small upturn to his lips. She felt a wave of love for George, who had always been protective of her, but that had been turned up to the maximum since she started being open about her chronic pain. Even if he did resort to some rather underhanded reconnaissance tactics to make sure she was okay. 

“Just… being you is enough,” she confessed, hoping that her brother understood that she was talking to him too.

“I’ll get you the comfiest chair,” Lando vowed. “The most cozy chair - with a hot water bottle and all. You can have your own corner in the garage.”

Y/N laughed at how solemn he sounded, reaching slowly over to the table to pick up a card and flick it at him.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Norris.”

//

Over the next few months, every time they would fly out to a different race, Lando would present her with a travel cushion and a new box of heat patches, offering them to her with a grin as soon as they boarded the jet. 

At the races that he could convince her to hang around the McLaren garage rather than with George at Mercedes, he had kept his word and there was a papaya coloured padded chair just for her in a corner. It had made her laugh, too, when half-way through the Chinese grand prix an employee had appeared at her side offering a McLaren-branded hot water bottle - confessing to Y/N with a grin that Lando had had it specially made for her.

Then a few weeks later at Bahrain, Y/N was having a particularly bad flare up, and Lando had noticed her stiffness immediately. He had come to her side and wound his arm around her waist, offering her some extra stability as he slowly helped her weave through the crowds in the Paddock - all the while whispering jokes in her ear to make her laugh and distract her from the pain as best he could.

Photos had appeared on her Instagram barely ten minutes later when Lando had gotten her through to the security of the Mercedes garage, all of which speculated over their relationship. It had given Y/N a stab of guilt, not sure how Lando would feel about the sudden interest in their friendship, but when she had seen him after the race he hadn’t brought it up - all that had been said were a couple of teasing comments from George and Carmen, which she had been all too happy to ignore.

They settled into a kind of routine, and Y/N had never expected anyone to be so willing to make accommodations for her, often without her even having to ask. It seemed that to Lando, it was second nature to try and look after her, and it had been on one of their numerous shared flights back to Monaco that he admitted he’d done some of his own research into chronic pain conditions - an admission that had touched her more than she was willing to admit.

Now it was the Wednesday before the Monaco race weekend, and Lando had invited her, George, Alex, Carmen and Lily over to his place for dinner. After having eaten, they had retired to Lando’s living room to play some rounds of Mario Kart.

Y/N had hung back in the kitchen for a moment to take her evening painkillers out of eyeshot from Alex and Lily. When she slowly made her way into the living room, Lando immediately gestured for her to join him on the sofa, the empty side of which was covered with various scattered cushions. The two couples had already started a game on the TV, and Lando leaned over to Y/N as she began to get herself settled.

“Did you ban everyone else from having cushions, Lan?”

“Yes! Yes he did!” Alex inputted, not taking his eyes from the screen. 

Lando grinned at her unashamedly.  

“I didn't know which ones you’d like best,” he offered by way of explanation. “I also have a hot water bottle if you need it,” Lando added, lowering his voice slightly.

Y/N smiled at him, leaning over to rest her head on his shoulder.

“Thank you - I’m okay for now, though.”

Lando momentarily tensed up at her touch, then seemed to relax into it, his arm snaking around her to carefully pull her closer.

“Comfortable?”

“Could use another pillow,” she joked. Lando chuckled under his breath, squeezing her waist.

“Don’t even joke - I’ll buy more,” he threatened.

They remained curled up together until the two couples had finished their round of Mario Kart, at which point they retreated to their separate sides of the sofa - Y/N feeling embarrassed at the open affection between her and her brother’s friend. 

Y/N swapped in for George for the next two rounds of Mario Kart before handing off the controller to Lily to take her place as she felt herself beginning to tire. She settled herself properly in the pile of cushions, eyes lazily on the screen as her blinks got heavier and heavier. 

“You wanna head home, Bug?” George asked, noticing her beginning to doze off.

“I’m fine,” she said through a yawn. “Maybe you should focus - or are you hoping for a Bullet Bill?”

Lando and Alex cackled at her comment, immediately taking up teasing their friend. Y/N smiled a little, allowing her eyes to close again. 

Y/N was roused briefly from her nap when someone placed a blanket over her, before smoothing a hand over her hair. In the haze of sleep, she was dimly aware of the continued chatter of her friends and the sound of a new round of Mario Kart starting - so she just readjusted her position on the sofa, and pulled the blanket tighter around herself. She drifted off again to the quiet sound of Lando chuckling under his breath. 

She was woken later to Lando gently shaking her shoulder.

“Hey, Mini-G - George and Carmen are getting ready to head home.”

“Oh - right,” she pushed herself up properly, wincing at the lances of pain through her back. Lando’s hands immediately went to her arms as though to try and ease her movements.

“You okay?”

“Yeah - always stiff after sleeping,” she admitted. “Help me up?”

Lando helped her to her feet, the blanket dropping back down onto the sofa. Before he could pull away fully from her, she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. Lando let out a little “oh” noise of surprise, but recovered quickly to hug her back. Y/N smiled, tucking her face into the crook of his neck, feeling him place a kiss on her shoulder.

“Sure you’re okay, darling?” He murmured.

“Yeah - just… can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me, you know?”

Lando pulled away from her, eyes crinkled in that familiar, achingly fond smile. He cupped her chin and pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“Of course,” he whispered, “you don’t need to thank me for trying to make you comfortable.”

“You do it without me even asking,” Y/N said aware that she sounded a little awed. “Of course I need to thank you.”

“If I can do something to help you, I’m going to do it,” Lando responded. Y/N went to move away from him, to go and find George and Carmen, but he grabbed hold of her hand. “Spend this weekend with me? Be my lucky charm?”

Y/N bit her lip.

“I already promised Carmen I’d hang out at Mercedes this weekend,” she hesitated before pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’ll cheer for you too, though - I always do.”

This time when she stepped away, Lando didn’t stop her - just stared at her with surprise. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed, but she didn’t wait for a reply, leaving him alone in his living room as she went out into the hallway where George and Carmen were waiting.

When they got back to George’s apartment, Carmen took herself off to bed immediately. When Y/N went to go to her own room, George called for her to stop.

“Something wrong?” She asked.

“Hot chocolate?” George offered, holding the door to the kitchen open with a hopeful smile.

“Always.”

It had been their tradition for as long as she could remember - her and George sitting in their kitchen at home making hot chocolate whenever they had something to talk about. When George had been worried about leaving school, he had told her about it over hot chocolate in the kitchen. When Y/N had panicked over what to apply for at university, she had talked it out with her brother in the same manner. 

She followed her brother into the kitchen, following his gesture to sit down while he pottered about making the drinks. George joined her at the island, sliding over a mug topped with a frankly excessive amount of whipped cream and marshmallows.

“So… Lando, huh?”

“Oh my God,” Y/N laughed. 

“What? A guy can’t look out for his little sister anymore?”

“There’s…” Y/N trailed off, thinking back to the moment her and Lando had just shared. “Okay there may be something going on,” she conceded.

“Well yeah - that much is obvious,” George snorted, rolling his eyes. “I mean the man has been half-way in love with you since we were kids.”

“That’s not true.”

“Please - every time you’d miss a Karting race he’d spend the entire time pestering me about where you were. It was so annoying. And don’t get me started on what he was like when you dated Tony in your first year. He was inconsolable, Bug.”

“Shut the fuck up - that’s not true.”

“You get him at his best. I’m cursed to see the both of you when you mope.”

“I don’t mope!”

“No, I suppose not,” he agreed in a considering tone. “But you nag.”

“I ‘nag’?”

“‘George, has Lando eaten enough today?’, ‘George, is Lando okay after that race?’, ‘George-‘“

“George, can you stop chatting such absolute shit,” Y/N mimicked, cutting him off.

“I’m sorry,” George laughed, nudging her playfully. “It’s nice that you seem to be… on the same page now.”

“He’s just… sweet, you know?”

“Yeah - he’s very sweet with you,” George agreed. “I was so worried about you, Bug,” he sighed after a moment. “I know the past year has been… shit for you. I wish you’d… talked to me.”

“It’s been more than a year, George,” Y/N said gently. “I don’t… remember a time when I wasn’t in pain. I only realised that that wasn’t normal, like, a year ago.”

“Oh…”

“And so I’m still trying to get used to talking about it in the first place, right? I wanted to talk to you, I just… didn’t know how.”

“I’m glad you can talk to Lando,” George said after a moment. “I am. I promise. I just wish you’d talk to me about it too.”

“To be honest, I don’t talk too much to Lando about it,” she shrugged, thinking back to their conversations. “He checks in, and asks me questions when he has them, but I think he’s done a lot of research.”

“I’ve tried to do the same,” George admitted a little awkwardly. “But-“

“It’s okay, George,” Y/N assured him. “There’s a lot of information. What you’ve done is more than enough.”

“All I’ve done is drag you around the world to watch me race,” George laughed.

“I’m living so many people’s dream! But what I mean is that you saw I was struggling. You gossiped with Mum, and yeah dragged me to Monaco, but… I feel more like myself now than I did this time last year.”

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do.”

“And that has nothing to do with you spending more time with Lando?”

“You’re so annoying sometimes!”

“What? You think me and Mum only gossip about your health? I’ve been giving her weekly updates about you and Lando and she’s been far more interested in those.”

The two of them shared a moment of laughter. Then Y/N took a drink of her hot chocolate, allowing the comfortable silence to wrap around the two of them.

“You really think he likes me?”

“Wow it’s been so long since I was in school,” George said, entirely deadpan.

“You wanted to talk! Gossip about boys with me,” she joked.

“Of course he likes you. He’s been waiting for years for the right time to ask you out.”

“Well, when could be better than when I’m going through a health crisis?”

“I mean this with all the love in the world, Bug,” George said sincerely, and when Y/N looked at him, she saw the sympathy in his eyes. “It’s… chronic, right? I know you were joking, but I’m not sure you can wait to just be healthy again.”

Y/N hated the sting of tears in her eyes, knowing her brother was right. Immediately, George was wrapping his arms around her to pull her into a hug and whispering apologies. 

“Don’t apologise, I know you’re right.” She wiped at her eyes furiously. “It just sucks.”

“Yeah,” George agreed. “It does. And I wish there was something I could do about it.”

“Just wingman me and we’ll be fine,” Y/N tried for a joke. George scoffed.

“Please, you don’t need a wingman. Not for Lando.”

//

Lando won at Monaco, because of course he did. George hadn’t had a good race, and even though he was clearly upset, when he got back to his driver’s room, he saw the look on Y/N’s face as she tried to temper he excitement on behalf of Lando and just laughed. He waved her off with instructions to go ‘get her boy’.

Y/N made her way over to the McLaren garage, immediately beelining towards his driver’s room. She wasn’t sure how much longer he would be held up with media obligations, but she was content to wait for him. She was deep in the twitter tag, reading the fan reactions to Lando’s win when the door opened and the man of the hour entered.

Lando’s hair was pushed back from his face, and there were indents on his face from the balaclava and helmet. His eyes were sparkling and he was grinning manically. The expression faltered just momentarily when his gaze landed on her, the he was beaming again, eyes crinkled at the edges now as he strode across the room and dropped to the ground in front of her chair, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her into an awkward hug.

“You’re here,” he breathed.

“I wanted to congratulate you,” she replied, dropping her phone in favour of returning his embrace.

“I thought you’d be cheering George up.”

“I got leave,” she joked, pulling out of his arms to smile at him. He gazed at her fondly, and her heart thudded in her chest, thinking back to Wednesday and the moment they had shared, and the assurances that her brother had offered her. She cupped his face in her hands, revelling in how he lent into the touch, and she brushed a thumb over his cheek. “Think you might still need that good luck charm next week?”

Lando studied her for a section, considering her words. Then, he raised one hand to her cheek and lent in, gently brushing his lips against hers. He pulled back, searching her eyes again, and seemed to find the answer he wanted, and he smiled at her before leaning back in, pressing a firmer kiss to her lips.

Y/N sank into his touch, her eyes closing as she slid her hands to the back of his neck, hoping to drag him closer to her. Lando’s tongue swiped across her lip, and she immediately granted him access, and he let out a soft moan as his tongue began to explore her mouth. She lent down further, silently cursing the angle as she was desperate to remove any space between them. 

But the movement sent a jolt down her back, and against her will she let out a little whimper of pain.

Lando’s reaction was instant, him pulling back and searching her desperately to understand what had happened.

“I’m okay!” She promised immediately, trying to pull him back in.

Lando huffed a laugh, pecked her lips again but then pulled away fully.

“You’ve had your afternoon meds yet, right?” He asked.

“No - I was too stressed during the race to eat, and then I kind of forgot,” she admitted. Lando smiled fondly at her, grabbing hold of her hand and giving it a squeeze.

“Come on - let's get you some food.”

“Don’t you have more media stuff to do?” Y/N argued, but allowed herself to be helped to her feet, though refusing to let go of his hand.

Lando tugged her closer to place a kiss to her forehead.

“I’ve been waiting for this chance for years, darling - media can wait. Let me take you on a date, where you can eat and take your painkillers so you can be more comfortable, and I can do this right.”

“Waiting for years, huh?” Y/N asked in the hopes of diverting his attention away from her embarrassment.

“Oh yeah,” Lando said immediately, grinning back at her. “Pretty sure I’ve been in love with you since the first time you came to a race.”

“Lando,” she groaned, forcing him to stop with her. “You can’t just say things like that and expect me not to kiss you.”

Lando laughed loudly, seemingly relieved that there was nothing seriously wrong. He reeled her in closer again, and kissed her - soft and sweet, and she melted into him.

“For the record,” she whispered when they broke apart, dropping her forehead to rest on his shoulder. “I love you too.”

[scrapyardboyfriends]

Episode Thoughts…

Well John continues to be more evil with Robert so that’s good even if it makes me want to slowly torture him to death. Haha. But no, I’m really glad that they’ve finally been steering him toward deliberate villain territory this week. It’s so needed in this story.

Poor Robert after dealing with John trying to choke him out yesterday is back two seconds and Ross is lurking around the corner to throw him up agains that clothes bin thing by the neck to threaten him. Ross better not do that around any wrenches or shovels.

I know people often get annoyed with Vic, but I do feel like they’re doing reasonably well with her. She’s continuing to stand by Robert despite being very frustrated with him and with all of John’s lies making Robert look crazy and paranoid and all of Robert’s actual ptsd issues plus the things he’s actually done like stealing the weed, it’s easy to see why she’s annoyed at him. But she’s still trying to make sure he doesn’t end up back in prison and she’s still trying to help him. So, I appreciate that.

Aaron on the other hand…haha. I mean I do think he’s taking his anger too far right now but that’s because it’s so rooted in 6 years of unresolved feelings. I also feel like he just cannot allow himself to acknowledge that Robert is struggling for real. Him bringing up Robert giving Vic the black eye. He just doesn’t seem to really want to think about all of the hell he must have gone through in prison and what it’s doing to him now because then he would start to care. And he almost let himself in that shop scene weeks ago before Robert tried to talk to him about it. Because Aaron knows that the minute he lets Robert be vulnerable with him, the minute he lets himself acknowledge that Robert has suffered too these last six years, he’s going to fold. I think on some level he wishes he was just back in prison so he could continue trying to live his sad little life with John and not have to think about Robert. It’s very frustrating to watch but I do get it. This is why I just need someone to lock them in a room so Aaron can work through all of his feelings.

Very curious to see how Monday plays out, especially with John being the one to encourage it because of course he has to control everything.

Now, to the Robert of it all. Ugh that scene with John was so infuriating to watch. I’ve seen lots of discussion over whether or not Robert was playing him. I think I agree that multiple things are happening there. I think functionally, he needs to say whatever he has to, to stay out of prison. So while that wasn’t exactly sincere, he genuinely needed to do it. At the same time, I think he was laying it on a little thick for a reason. And that’s where I agree that the chess metaphor comes in. That he is letting him have this win so he can regroup. I just don’t think he has a plan quite yet. So it’s more let me just make this sacrifice to my self respect now and then I’ll figure it out later.

I do feel like he had to sort of reset multiple times in that conversation though, every time John started trying to gaslight him. His whole “you hated me from the start” when Robert tried to bring up what John said yesterday. His comment about being trained to fight as a last resort while you’re a violent bully. I feel like Robert just kept having to backtrack and reevaluate and that’s where he started just really trying to stroke his ego.

I do think there were a lot of truths in there too but it was just a whole combination of things.

The Jack stuff is interesting. And just bringing up the fact that they’re blood. The fact that once again it seems like John just hated Robert before they even met. And I’m just screaming at the screen “tell me more!” The comment again about how Robert sabotaged the life he had with Aaron and Vic. Like he has this whole narrative in his head and I want to understand it. If they don’t circle back around to this for some backstory/origin story I’m going to be so mad.

I still think it makes way more sense for him to just be a Sugden. And it would be so convoluted for him not to be at this point. Or for him to be pretending to be John Sugden. I just don’t see why he would be doing any of this. I feel like the only way he could not be a Sugden is if his mom just lied about Jack being his dad. And then he’s had all of this resentment for years over something that wasn’t even true. But I don’t want him to be tragic about it. I’d rather he just be a Sugden. I just want them to use this retconned history in an interesting way.

I also need to know what gibberish John was saying last night Aaron. Do you think you could record some of this for evidence for the court please? Haha. It’s not the first time they’ve brought up him talking in his sleep though either. I want to know if they’re going to go somewhere with that. Cause John looks terrified every time Aaron brings that up. Wake up Aaron!

Speaking of recording things…is that dash cam just always on? Also notice how when John attacked Robert, he made sure he wasn’t on camera and then he walked away in front of the van. Ugh I hate him. I wonder what he will end up using that video for.

Over all, a solid week. Looking forward to Monday. Feel like that might be all we get of Robert, which is sad, but at least we have that Vinny and Aaron conversation to look forward to.

It is hilarious that Aaron is ready to kill Robert or send him to prison this week but next week he’s like “please don’t go and let me fondly remember kissing him on my wedding day to someone else” haha. John warns Robert to stay away from Aaron (which…by the way he has been) but he needs to pay more attention to his husband and make sure it’s him that’s not straying. Haha.

[lilidawnonthemoon]

💫 𝓒𝓸𝓼𝓶𝓲𝓬 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓮𝓼 🌌

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

My roommate and I had a conversation last night and I keep rotating it in my brain and I Don’t Like It

[mylove-thresher]

new mechanical pencils so fayahhhhh

[hp-lonesome-actual-art]

Another batch or Mr. Puzzles quick sketches. I kept forgetting to draw his side pocket in the last couple ones. Random character featured in the little comic-ish Live Interview is some version of doodlesona. Can’t guarantee the dialogue will be believable/sound in character for Puzzles because honestly I’m still working on understanding his talking style and when he sarcastically jokes around or when he chooses to be serious and drop performance act. But in the off chance you wanna read it goes from left to right with reading

[the-bluestreak-cat]

My extremely personal red flag is if you’ve never lived independently.

Do not open tags it’s just a personal vent and I hit the tag limit (30) and that’s never happened to me before ajskdlf

[thundersoothers]

john price, his wife, and... the dog (derogatory)

who: John Price x wife!reader

what: inspired by this thought about john price being an absolutely softie for his wife. continued here!

word count: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of cheating but it’s NOT TRUE! you’ll see… just fluff that reallyyyyy makes me want to marry this man. inclusivity warning: reader gets picked up by Price and carried over his shoulder

It’s 2AM on a Saturday in the summer when John Price thinks he hears his wife cheating on him. 

“Shhh!!  You have to be quiet, you’ll wake up my husband.” 

He opens his heavy eyes to see the TV paused at the end credits of some movie he can’t even remember the name of.  The screen reflects in the crystal of the empty rocks glass on the coffee table next to his feet, holding only a warm whiskey stone.  

He groans and stretches, his old t-shirt riding up to show a dark happy trail disappearing into low-waisted flannel pajama pants.  He has one sock on with a hole in the toe.  You told him to get rid of them and got him a pack of 20 of the same sock (he’s very particular about his socks), but he still wears these ones, anyway. 

“Stop moving, I’m trying to concentrate here.  Damn lock… can never— oh, shit.  Heh. Wrong key.” 

He can hear you muttering and giggling and the scratch of the key against the lock as you struggle to get it in. 

It’s your girls’ night and he likes to wait up for you to make sure you get in safely.  He saw you off around 8PM, pouring himself a glass of whiskey as you took a shot of tequila.  You planted a big kiss on his cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark that he didn’t bother to fully wipe off. 

“Sorry, I know you’re eager to get inside.  I bet you’re so cold, all naked.  Here, you can go in my dress, is that better?  Fu—ow!  Don’t bite my tit, Jesus!  Sharp teeth…” 

Price suddenly feels much more awake.  He pushes himself up from the couch and starts to walk to the foyer. 

“This damn door… ah!  There we go.” 

The door creaks open and he hears you tiptoe inside in your heels (wearing heels and tiptoeing—are two actions that are mutually exclusive, especially when you’re plastered). 

“Remember, we have to be quiet.  My husband waits for me to get home, we don’t want to wake him up.  He’s very nice, you see, but he can’t know you’re here.” 

Apparently, you have gotten home safely—with an extra guest who just bit at your tit.  And you’re being louder than your guest, who you keep telling to be quiet. 

“My husband is gonna be soooo mad.  He’s gonna be so mad at me, but once he sees how cute you are, I think he’ll forgive me.  He’ll understand.  I had to.  I just had to!” 

He hears rustling as he gets closer to the foyer, you fumbling around in the dark. 

“Stay there, don’t move, okay?  Stay, yeah?  You know that, don’t you?  Mummy will teach you if not.  Just stay right there.  Lemme get these damn heels off…” 

There’s an odd sound of something quickly clicking on hardwood floor that makes his eyebrows furrow, and then you gasp—

“Wait, don’t run—“ 

Bang! 

You groan loudly. 

Price flicks on the lights.

You’re lying face down on the rug.  You have one heel on.  The second heel is twisted around your other foot—what you fell over.  Your little dress is flipped up over your ass and your arms are outstretched. 

“You okay there, love?” John asks, torn between amusement and concern. You just groan.  “Sounded like you fell pretty hard.” 

“I tripped,” you say into the rug, sounding very sad. 

“You hurt?” he asks.  “Anything broken?”

You shake your head and curl up a little.  “I’ll just sleep here.” 

He laughs softly.  “Come on, none of that.” 

“It’s so comfortable.  I’ll just—“ 

There’s that clicking sound again and he’s almost startled by the abruptness of your movement.  You push yourself up with one arm, stretch the other out and fucking snatch the quick-moving little brown blob that’s moving toward you.  You pull it to your chest and cradle it, shielding it from John’s view. 

He blinks. “What you got there, love?” he asks after a second. 

“Nothing,” you say innocently. 

“Right.”  He crosses his arms, looking you over.  “Who were you talking to just now?” 

“No one,” you say quickly.  “Myself.” 

“Right,” John says again slowly. “Show me what you have.” 

You look over your shoulder up at him through your lashes, vision blurry.  “No.  You’re gonna be mad.” 

“Just show me.” 

“Promise you won’t be mad.” 

He sighs.  “I won’t be mad.”  You give him a look.  He sighs again.  You’re wasted—he can tell by your eyes. They’re unfocused and heavy.  “Promise.  Now show me.” 

You look down at whatever you’re holding to your chest.  “Okay,” you whisper (to your tits?), “you need to be very well-behaved, okay?  No biting, please.  Be very nice for Daddy so he will like you, okay?  Can you do that?  Yes?  Okay.” 

You glance up at John again over your shoulder and then turn yourself around in a very clumsy movement.  Then, as if presenting whatever it is like you’re Mufasa from the Lion King, you lift it up in the air toward your husband. 

It’s a puppy. 

It’s quiet. 

The little dog wriggles in your hands, wagging his tail so hard his whole body shakes.  He barks up at John, high pitched.  A small pink tongue lolls out of his mouth. 

It’s still quiet. 

You lower the dog a little so you can look up at John.  “You said you wouldn’t be mad!” 

“I’m not mad,” John says, sounding mad. 

“You look mad.” 

“I’m not mad,” he says again.  “It’s just… dirty.” 

You gasp.  “He’s not dirty!” you exclaim, sounding offended on behalf of the dog.  You pull him to your chest.  “He’s just a little mangey, you see.  But that’s okay.  It can be fixed.  You know—they have medicine for that.  Or lotion, or whatever it is.  He’s very nice, John, I swear.  I know he’s a little… skrunkly but he’s very cute and—ow!  That’s my hair, no biting Mummy, please.” 

“You’re already calling yourself his Mummy?” he asks, bemused, eyebrow raised at you.  Yep.  You’re fucking wasted. 

“Yes, and you’re his Daddy.”  You hold the dog up again, this time facing him toward you.  “I think you’re very cute, puppy. You’ll grow on Daddy.  Just be very good for him, you can do that, can’t you?  Yes, you can.”  You whisper, as if John isn’t standing right there, “We’ll wear him down. Don’t worry.”

“I thought it was something else,” Price says. 

“What did you think it was?” you ask, not looking away from the dog.

“Where did you find it?” he asks instead of answering. 

This is much better than what his traitorous mind momentarily supplied.  You, cheating? As if.

How silly of him to even think that. For a moment, his stomach twists with the guilt of doubting you. He should have known better. 

Of course it’s this.  What else could it have been?

A puppy. 

A puppy! 

“Oh, hello, there.” 

You crouch down in your dress and heels and hold out your hand to the little puppy emerging from the bushes by the side of the road. 

“What are you doing here, all alone?  Come here, love, I won’t hurt you.  Come on, puppy, come to me.  Yeahhh, there we go.  Oh, look at you.  You’re so cute.  You’re all mangey, though.  Oh,” you say pitifully, “you little baby.” 

You’re drunk as fuck at 2AM on a Saturday in the summer, halfway through your walk home from the bar, squatting in the middle of a back road in England, about to cry while petting this puppy clumsily—but he doesn’t seem to mind.  He wags his tail and nips at your fingers. 

“Where’s your mummy?  You shouldn’t be out here all alone.  No collar… oh, goodness, what should I do with you?  I don’t want to leave you.  I’m not sure what to do.” 

He barks at you, high pitched. 

You nod at him seriously.  “Oh, yes, good point.”  He barks again.  “Mhm.  Yes, yes.  I thought so, too.  Exactly right.” 

He runs in a circle around you. 

“What are you, a month?  You should be with your Mum, you shouldn’t be all alone.  Oh, you little baby, you must be so scared.”  (He’s wagging his tail.) 

“It’s so cold.”  (It’s summer.) 

“Maybe you can come home with me?”  (Your husband would be so mad.) 

“Yes,” you decide.  “You’ll come home with me.”  (Your husband is going to be so mad.) 

That’s how you end up stumbling home with a puppy in your arms, rambling to him about yourself and your life. 

“Well, puppy, my name is Mrs. Price.  I’m from around here.  I live in a nice three bedroom house with my husband, I think you’ll like it very much.  It’s very cute, but that's mostly because I decorated it. He doesn’t understand feng shui, you see. You should see his office, puppy, it’s so bland. No taste for interior design.”

“Our house is only 10 more minutes away.  See that big tree there?  That means we only have 10 minutes left until we’re home.  I’m not great with street names, so I go by landmarks.”  He barks.  “Yes, yes, you get it.” 

“Anyway.  So, I’m—stop wiggling please, Mummy’s going to drop you—I’m married to a very nice man named John.  I love him very much.  You’ll like him, too,” you tell the dog seriously. "He’s very likable.  I like lots of things about him, puppy.  Actually," you say, "I like everything about him.” 

“He says I can’t have a dog, though.  He says it’s for my own good—booooo. Boo! But maybe we can sneak you in.  What do you think, puppy?  Should we do that?  I think we should do that.  We’ll have to be very quiet, though.  Very quiet.” 

“John waits for me to get home safely—he’s so nice, he’s so kind to me, I love him sooooo much—but we have to make sure not to wake him up. This is one of them—uh, covert operations. He’s very well-versed in those. My husband is very talented, puppy, he’s a military Captain. So we’ll have to be extra careful.”

And that’s how you end up trying to sneak into your own house and then trip over your shoe and fucking slam! your face on the rug. 

“Where did you find it?” John asks you as you sit on the floor after you presented the dog to him.

“On the way home from the bar, kind of by that big tree.” 

“By Notting Street?” 

You furrow your eyebrows.  “Notting Str—I dunno.  Maybe?  I just know the big tree.  The one with all the branches.” 

“‘The one with all the branches,’” he repeats, nodding slowly.  “Right.” 

“But he was there all alone so I took him home.  I couldn’t leave him, John, he’s so little.  And he’s very cute, look at his little ears?  And his little feet?  His toes are soooo small.  His little teeth are sharp, though—like a shark.  Fuckin’ hurt, he almost bit my tit off.” 

“Yeah, I heard.” 

“You heard?  Oh.  I was trying to be quiet.  I didn’t want to wake you up.” 

He smiles at you.  “I know.” 

You smile back. 

“Give me the dog.” 

You frown.  “No.” 

“The dog, please.” 

“No.”  You hold him tighter.  “You’ll take him from me.” 

“Well,” he says, “yes.” 

You sigh heavily.  “Be gentle.”  You hand him to John and he takes him in one hand and holds him out, frowning, as if it’s offended him. 

A puppy. 

“Can we keep him?” you ask hopefully. 

He glances at you and then back to the puppy and then back to you and then back to the puppy.  “No.” 

“Please?” 

“No.” 

“But…”  You trail off and he looks back down at you.  You’re starting to tear up. 

“Oh—love, don’t cry.” 

“He’s so little and soft and nice and he’s all mangey and he’s all alone and he’s just a little baby and…” 

“Okay, okay, darling—we can keep him for the night.” 

(By that, he means you’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober, and by ‘talk about it’, he means, ‘no.’) 

“Really?!” you gasp.  

The way your face fucking lights up makes John pause.  For a second, he almost feels like he lost his balance.

“Oh, John, really?  Oh, thank you so much!  Puppy, did you hear that?  Daddy said yes!  See, he’s very nice, just like I told you, remember?  He’s very nice and kind and he’s very handsome and I love him very much, and I—“ 

“The dog can’t understand you.” 

“You don’t know that,” you say defensively.

He looks down at you. “Right.”

You stare up at him, standing over you as you sit on the floor.  “How are you handsome even from this angle?”  You frown deeper.  “Stupid face,” you mutter. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Let’s get you up.” 

“I’m so comfortable.” 

“Hand.”  He tucks the dog under his arm and extends his other hand toward you.  He crooks his long, thick fingers at you.  “Now.” 

You look between his hand and his face, and then slip your hand into his. 

“Good girl.”

He fucking yanks you up and, in one movement that’s somehow graceful, bends down and throws you over his shoulder. 

He, naturally, slaps your ass and you squeal.  “Hey!!” 

You kick your feet (still with only one heel on) and he laughs, resting his hand on your hip, heavy fingers digging into the plush of your butt, as he makes his way up the stairs with you on his shoulder and the dog in his hand. 

Gently, he drops you onto the bed and you fall back with an oof! and stare up at him. 

“Well,” Price drawls, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” 

You grin.  “I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too.”  He takes off your shoe (singular), your dress, and your makeup as you hold the dog, curled up, on your chest. 

“You’re so good to me, John,” you say, your eyes closed.  “I’m so lucky.  I don’t know how I got so lucky.  And, you, puppy,” you mumble, petting him slowly, “you’re so lucky, too.  You’re about to have the best Daddy in the world.  He’s so good to us.” 

“‘Puppy’ is asleep,” John says.  “And,” he adds, scooping him up in one hand, “puppy is not sleeping in the bed.” 

You just groan, too tired and drunk to argue. 

He holds the dog out in the air again, turning him around and upside down to examine him.  He yips and wriggles in his hands, but John shushes him.  “Hush now.  Your Mummy is asleep.”  He shakes his head and sighs.  “What am I going to do with you?” 

He takes the dog to the bathroom and puts him down on the floor. His paws slip a little on the cold tile. John puts his hands on his hips, staring down at the dog.  “I can’t believe this.”

He reaches over to turn on the heated floor (which he got installed for you), throws a fluffy towel onto the ground (also for you), and says to the dog, “You are so, so damn lucky I love your Mummy.” 

In the morning, despite John Price’s best efforts to say no to you, you end up convincing him to keep the dog. He’s a military Captain but the pleading of his wife is enough to make him crumble.

The happiness on your face when he finally says yes, makes him wonder why he ever said no in the first place.

note: thank you for reading! this is my first time posting in years–and in a totally new fandom. thank you for your patience and your support. let me know your thoughts! merry christmas!

posted 12.26.2024. revised 07.22.2025.

do not repost or modify any of my original words on any other platform.

to masterlist.

[inspectorseb]

I only got to watch the first two inning cause I was gone out but you’re telling me they put KK on waivers DURING THE GAME?!?!???